


Garnish

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Series: Fishing, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-28
Updated: 1999-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-11 02:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11138961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Fraser is short-handed for a Consulate function and Ray K. decides to lend a hand. This story is a sequel toThe Catch.





	Garnish

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

(Garnish)

 

This story is most definitely a **PWP** and features  
characters from _Due South_ most notably Benton Fraser and Ray Kowalski.  
It is part of in my "Fishing" series, and is a sequel to _"The Catch."_  
Timeline-wise this, like _"The Catch,"_ is set between the episodes  
"Hunting Season" and "The Call of the Wild," FYI, although this series  
began as a DS/HL crossover, there are no crossover aspects in this story.

Rated NC-17 for graphic sexuality (M/M). If you're considered a minor in your community please do not read this (do your parents know where you are, you young whippersnapper you!?). If you're narrow-minded or easily offended, you may want to take a pass as well. Characters property of Alliance, everything else is MINE ALL MINE! 

_Thank You to my Beta readers, Julia Kosatka, Debra Ann Fiorini, AuKestrel & Marina Bailey _   
  


* * *

  


  
Garnish  
c. 1999, Kellie Matthews  


          
        "Ray?"  
        Ray didn't move. His  
slender, muscular form was slouched in his desk chair, his legs stretched  
out in front of him and shifted slightly apart, which tended to draw  
one's gaze to the rather . . . er, well-packed vee between them. Fraser  
quickly lifted his gaze to Ray's face, finding that his partner's gaze  
was still fixed on some distant point, a slight smile curving his mouth,  
making it extraordinarily kissable. Which wasn't something he really  
ought to be thinking about in the middle of the 27th's detective-division  
bullpen. But in the short time they'd been lovers, Ben had come to  
know exactly what that particular smile meant, and could he help it if  
Ray looked as if he were, well, indulging in a little sexual fantasy?  
        "Ray? Ray?  
 _Ray?_ " He repeated himself, several times, each time a little  
more strongly, a little more exasperated. Finally, on the last repetition,  
Ray's gaze snapped to his.  
        "Uh  
. . . what, Fraser? I didn't hear you."  
        "That  
was eminently clear, Ray. I asked if you were ready to go."  
        "Go where?"  
Kowalski asked, blinking in a way that ought to look vacuous but instead  
seemed merely casually inattentive.  
        "You  
promised to take me back to the Consulate by three. I have to help prepare  
it for the reception tonight, and you said you wanted to pick up the  
Chelovek files."  
        "Oh.  
Oh! Right. Sorry, Frase. I was a million miles away there."  
        "So I noticed."  
        Ray's gaze slid down  
his body, then back up, in a singularly suggestive manner. "Actually,  
it wasn't quite a million. It was really only a couple hundred, I think.  
Somewhere underwater."  
        Under  
water? That was odd. "Are we going?" Fraser prompted.  
        "Yeah, sure,"  
Ray said, coming to his feet, grabbing his jacket, heading for the door.  
He stopped halfway there. "Well? You comin'?" he asked with  
a grin that told Fraser he knew he was being obnoxious.  
        Fraser  
bit the inside of his lip to keep his expression severe, picked up his  
Stetson, and followed. Diefenbaker came out from underneath Frannie's  
desk to trot behind him. He let Dief into the car, settled into the  
passenger seat, fastened the safety belt, and waited until they were  
en-route to ask the question that Ray obviously had wanted him to ask.  
        "Underwater, Ray?"  
        Ray's sleepy blue gaze  
slid toward him, and a laugh line appeared at one corner of his mouth.  
"Yeah. Underwater. You know. 'We all live in a yellow submarine.'"  
        He sang the last  
bit, and Fraser was a little surprised to find that Ray had a relatively  
pleasant voice. Somehow he hadn't expected that. Then he got it. Yellow  
submarine. He felt a smile tugging at his own mouth.  
        "What  
about yellow submarines, Ray?"  
        "Could  
you tell? I mean, you never said a word, but hell, we were so tight  
in there that I was plastered up against your butt like sticky on tape,  
and after y'kissed me on the _Henry Allen_ I couldn't keep my mind  
off sex."  
        "I  
didn't kiss you on the _Henry Allen,_ Ray," Fraser protested.  
        "Izzat right?  
Tell me you hadda use yer tongue to do the buddy-breathing thing."  
        Ray's gaze held his.  
Too long. He felt his face getting warm. "Er, well, not exactly.  
Please, Ray, the road?"  
          
Reluctantly Ray shifted his gaze back to traffic. "Don't worry,  
Ben, I got great per.. perif . . . um, side vision. But if it makes  
you happy--"  
        "It  
does, Ray," Fraser assured him fervently.  
        "Then  
I'll keep 'em on the road. So, did you notice?"  
        "Notice  
what, Ray?"  
        "God,  
you have the attention span of a gnat, you know that?" Ray pointed  
out good-naturedly, if unfairly. "An' I thought _I_ was bad.  
Did you notice I was hard as a rock when I was sittin' behind you in  
the sub with my crotch about glued to your gorgeous ass?"  
        Ben's  
already warm face got warmer and he tugged at the stiff collar of his  
uniform. "Ah, yes, I noticed that you were in an, um, state of  
arousal."  
        "Is  
that why you looked at me weird?"  
        "I  
looked at you weirdly?" Fraser asked, then suddenly remembered  
that he'd been looking at his father. But of course, Ray couldn't have  
known that.  
        "Yeah.  
Real weird. Like you couldn't believe I was doin' that. I was just  
tryin' to put together some excuse when you started acting like it was  
no big deal. So I figured, why argue, it's easier that way. But you  
did. Notice, I mean."  
        "Yes,  
Ray, I did."  
        "Ah,"  
Ray said, somewhat maddeningly.  
        "Ah,  
what?" Ben asked.  
        Ray  
grinned. "Just 'ah.' You know. Like you do."  
        "Ah."  
        "So, didn't  
you wonder why?"  
        It  
seemed very warm in the car. Ben rolled down the window a crack to let  
cool air in, and cleared his throat. "I assumed it was merely an  
adrenaline reaction, Ray."  
        Ray  
chuckled. "Fraser, I run on adrenaline. Do I usually get a hard-on  
from adrenaline?"  
        Fraser  
thought back. "Well, now that you mention it, no."  
        "But  
that didn't occur to you then?"  
        "I'm  
afraid it didn't. I had other things on my mind at the time."  
        Ray put the back of one  
hand to his forehead in a Drama Queen pose. "I'm devastated! There  
I am, practically can't think of anythin' but gettin' into your pants,  
and you got other things on your mind?"  
        "I'm  
sorry," Ben said, trying to look appropriately contrite. "The  
circumstances were rather distracting. Would you have preferred it if  
I had said something?"  
        Ray  
laughed, shaking his head, his thumbs tapping at the steering wheel.  
"No, probably not. At that point if you'd said anything I'd probably  
have freaked out so bad you'd've had to tie me down to keep me in that  
sub. But even then, I did wonder how you could possibly not have noticed."  
        "Oh, I noticed.  
Believe me, I noticed."  
        A  
broad grin curved his partner's mobile mouth. "Good. So, how'd  
it make you feel, when you noticed?"  
        "Excuse  
me?"  
        "The  
wolf's deaf, Fraser, you're not. You heard me." He reached down  
to shift, and then his hand casually slid off the gearshift and onto  
Ben's thigh, one finger tracing along the left side of his groin. "Did  
it make you hot?"  
        "Ray!"  
Fraser said in scandalized tones, but he didn't remove the hand on his  
thigh.  
        "Come  
on, Frase, fess up. Did it turn you on?"  
        He  
wasn't about to discuss this now, not when he had to be at work in just  
a few minutes. This was a discussion best saved for Ray's apartment.  
He attempted to change the subject. "This is silly, Ray."  
        "Silly?" Ray  
demanded, affronted. He pulled the car into a parking lot and stopped.  
"That does it. We're not goin' any farther until you tell me."  
        "It's only another  
four blocks to the Consulate. I can easily walk," Fraser pointed  
out, feeling unaccountably stubborn.  
        "True."  
His partner chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully, scratched his  
back, then turned in a surprisingly swift twist and Fraser felt cold  
metal slip into place around his wrist. He looked down to find that  
he was handcuffed to Ray. He lifted his stunned gaze to Ray's, and saw  
determination, amusement, and desire in their hot blue depths.  
        "Oh, dear."  
        "Tell me, or you  
get to explain to the Ice Queen why you're tryin' to clean the consulate  
with me hangin' off your wrist."  
        "Ray,"  
Ben said severely. "Blackmail ill becomes an officer of the law."  
        "Since when do I  
care?"  
        Well,  
there was that. Ray had never before shown a particular abhorrence for  
the occasional bending of protocols. Fraser looked at him again, saw  
again the determination in those normally sleepy eyes, and sighed.  
        "Ray, I really have  
to go to work," he said, sounding a tad bit more plaintive than  
he'd intended.  
        "Yeah,  
so?"  
        "The  
last time you got me to thinking about things like . . . this, before  
I had to work, I had a great deal of difficulty concentrating and I filed  
the monthly reports completely out of order. I had to work quickly to  
rectify that before Turnbull discovered my lapse and wanted to know what  
was wrong. And it's difficult enough explaining things to Turnbull when  
I can think clearly!"  
        Ray  
laughed softly, the sound a sensual caress. "I don't suppose they'd  
think bein' horny was a good excuse?"  
        "Highly  
unlikely."  
        "Mmm,  
too bad," he reached down with the hand that was linked to Fraser's  
and flattened his palm over Fraser's crotch.  
        "Ray!"  
Ben hissed. "Stop! We're in a public place for God's sake! Someone  
might see!"  
        Ray  
grinned. "Yeah. I know. But you're the one in the day-glo uniform  
and they won't know me from Adam. So, you gonna tell me, or go to work  
like this?"  
        Ray's  
hand moved, curving suggestively over the growing bulge between Fraser's  
thighs, effectively forcing Fraser to do the same, since their hands  
were cuffed together. He closed his eyes and tried to think of glaciers.  
It didn't work. The greenhouse effect was in full force and the glaciers  
were melting, rapidly. For some reason he found this whole scenario  
incredibly, irresistibly erotic. His fingers moved over Ray's, stroking  
the back of his hand, sliding down those long, lean fingers, tracing  
the curve of his thumb. God. He froze, suddenly realizing what he was  
doing. He knew he was going to have to give in and tell Ray what he  
wanted, either that or he was going to lose his mind.  
        "I  
can always tell the inspector that you lost your key," Ben hedged,  
trying one last time to get out of this.  
        "True.  
But that leaves out why we're in 'em to begin with. Course, Thatcher  
looks like she might be into this scene. Maybe she'd like it."  
        "Ray," Ben's  
voice lowered warningly. He looked into Ray's face and knew he wasn't  
getting out of this one. Usually he managed to retain the upper hand,  
but not this time. He swallowed, and looked out the window. "Yes.  
I did."  
        "Yes,  
you did what?"  
        "I,  
ah, found your arousal, stimulating."  
        "There,  
now was that so . . . hard?" Ray asked, with a little squeeze.  
        Ben bit back a moan,  
head back against the back of the seat, eyes squeezed tightly shut.  
"Please!"  
        "Please  
what? God, I wish it was dark. I'd have you outta those pants so fast  
. . ."  
        "Ray!"  
Ben protested in a whimper.  
        "Okay,  
okay, I get it. Enough. For now. More later. After work."  
        As Ray lifted his hand,  
their hands, Fraser swallowed, trying to get some moisture back into  
his mouth. Finally he managed a sentence. "I'm working late, remember?"  
        Ray sighed. "Right.  
That sucks."  
        There  
was a soft click, and the handcuffs released. Ben sighed, a little shiver  
going through him. He had never understood the appeal of certain things  
he'd heard of before, but now he had just an inkling of why some people  
might, under some circumstances, find them interesting. Ray reached  
over and checked his wrist.  
        "Good,  
no marks. Now, hang on, I'll be right back." He let go of Ben's  
arm and slipped out of the car, pulling his leather jacket closed so  
the hem hid his crotch. Ben smiled inwardly, knowing exactly why he'd  
done that. He disappeared into the office building they were parked  
next to, then reappeared a few minutes later holding something, which  
he handed to Ben as he got back into the car.  
        "Here  
ya go."  
        Ben  
looked at the beverage in his hand with a frown. "You know I don't  
particularly care for soft drinks, Ray."  
        "It's  
not for your mouth, goof," Ray said with a wink. "You gotta  
go to work, and I know how long you last." He pushed Ben's hand  
firmly downward, until the cold can was between his thighs. "There."  
        While Fraser had his  
doubts as to the potential efficacy of Ray's folk remedy, it did indeed  
seem to help, and when they pulled up to the consulate with three minutes  
to spare he was at least able to walk, though still glad his jodhpurs  
were baggy and his tunic was long. He eased out of the car, then turned.  
        "Ray, I'm afraid  
you'll need to come in and get the Chelovek files yourself, I won't have  
time to bring them out to you. They're on my desk, in the out basket."  
        His partner nodded.  
"No biggie, Frase. I know where yer office is."  
        Ray  
hopped out of the car and followed Fraser up the steps as he opened the  
door to the consulate and found chaos within. He could hear Inspector  
Thatcher's voice raised, clearly annoyed. Turnbull hovered outside the  
door to her office, looking distraught. Constable Avery was threading  
electrical cords beneath the runner so people wouldn't trip over them,  
and there was a distinct scent of melted plastic in the air. He shook  
his head. Leave for a few hours and everything goes to hell in a handbasket.  
He strode over to where Turnbull haunted the doorway.  
        "What  
seems to be the problem, Turnbull?"  
        Turnbull  
turned to him, eyes wide and distressed. "The caterer, sir. Four  
of her assistants have come down with the flu after catering a hospital  
event last weekend, and she's only been able to find two replacements.  
The Inspector doesn't believe we can get by on two."  
        "In  
that case, we'll just have to help out, won't we, Turnbull?"  
        Turnbull drew himself  
up, looking offended and shocked. "Inspector Thatcher suggested  
that, sir, but I convinced her that it was beneath the dignity of the  
uniform."  
        Fraser  
sighed. It wasn't undignified to have a uniformed officer fetch her  
dry-cleaning, but they weren't to be waiters? Still, Turnbull was probably  
right in this case. They had enough trouble with people thinking they  
were bellhops and ushers without adding waiters to the list. He frowned,  
trying to think of anyone he knew who could help out. Frannie, perhaps?  
No, she'd mentioned having plans. Huey, Welsh, Dewey . . . no, he couldn't  
imagine any of them would be pleased to spend an evening carrying a tray.  
Perhaps Stanley Smith, the young man who'd helped them with the Rankin  
case, might be willing to help if they could find him a tux for the evening.  
Fraser still had his pager number in his Rolodex.  
        "Hey,  
Frase. Need a hand?"  
        He  
turned to find Ray standing at his elbow. "No, but thank you, Ray.  
We'll work it out."  
        Ray  
looked around, sniffed audibly at the acrid odor of hot plastic, and  
lifted an ironic eyebrow. "Yeah?"  
        "I'll  
make sure of it," Fraser said, not boasting, just stating a fact.  
He had no choice.  
        "Look,  
I heard you need a waiter. I slung a mean tray, back in my wild and  
misspent youth."  
        "I'm  
afraid it's a formal reception, Ray," Fraser said absently.  
        An odd little smile quirked  
the corner's of Ray's mouth, and he nodded. "Gotcha, Frase. I'll  
just go get that file and head on out, then."  
        Fraser  
nodded, already deep in planning. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ray."

* * *  


  
        At six minutes to eight,  
Ray stepped up to the rear door of the Consulate and knocked. After  
a moment, a harassed-looking constable, Ray thought the guy's name was  
Avery, opened the door. He looked pretty silly in dress reds and an  
apron, but Ray carefully didn't smile.  
        "Yes?"  
the Mountie demanded crankily.  
        "Fraser  
sent me," he lied baldly. "I'm supposed to help wait."  
        Obvious relief flashed  
across Avery's face. "Thank God! Come on in, the caterer is in  
the reception room but she'll be back in a few minutes to brief you.  
In the meantime, would you mind putting the garnishes on that tray over  
there? Since the caterer is short-handed we're running behind. It's  
all finished except for that. They're in the bowl, just stick some on  
to pretty it up."  
        Ray  
looked at the tray, which looked pretty good as it was, looked at the  
bowl of flowers, and shrugged. If the Canadians wanted flowers on their  
food, who was he to argue?  
        "Sure.  
Lemme wash up." He didn't want a health-code lecture.  
        He  
was in the middle of deciding where to place one of the orangey-red nasturtium  
blooms when Turnbull appeared, escorting a tux-clad young black man,  
who grinned when he saw Ray.  
        "Hey!  
Vecchio! You moonlighting?"  
        Ray  
smiled back. "Hey, Smith. Nah, I volunteered. Gotta help out  
yer friends, right?"  
        Stanley  
nodded. "Right." He wandered over to stand next to Ray, surveying  
him with a critical eye. After a moment he whistled softly. "Man,  
where'd you rent your suit? It's a lot nicer than mine!"  
        "Rent?  
I'll have you know I own this baby." Ray said, touching a finger  
to the gold and sapphire collar stud which had been a gift from his ex-wife.  
He'd bought the tux himself, for the occasional stuffy function they'd  
had to attend for Stella's job, and of course, for dancing. Fraser's  
casual assumption that Ray couldn't handle a formal dress occasion had  
piqued him into proving otherwise.  
        "You  
own it?"  
        Ray  
tried to decide if he ought to be affronted by the kid's incredulous  
tone of voice, and opted to let it go. "Yeah, I own it. And put  
that down 'til ya wash yer hands," he ordered as Stanley picked  
up the bowl of flowers Ray was working with.  
        Stanley complied,  
and then the caterer reappeared and called them over for a quick briefing,  
and then things were off and there was no more time to yack. Circulating  
through the crowded reception room with his tray, offering canapés  
randomly to milling guests, he noticed what a difference the tux apparently  
made in the way people perceived him. He was definitely catching glances  
that conveyed interest, both from women in their elegant, sparkling gowns,  
and from a couple of the men.  
        Funny,  
if he'd hit on any of these people in his usual attire they wouldn't  
have looked at him twice, in fact, they might have called a cop, even  
though he was one. But now, in a tux, he was eligible, even if he was  
just a waiter. Something to remember, if he and Fraser didn't work.  
. . no, he wasn't gonna think about that. Speaking of Fraser, Ray hadn't  
spotted him yet, maybe he was out front doing the doorman thing. Or  
maybe hiding in his office from the sheer volume of people. Fraser wasn't  
big on crowds.  
        Now,  
that would really be annoying, he thought, smiling determinedly as a  
too-skinny society-type female dithered over his tray, trying to decide  
between the chevre en croute and the salmon puffs. What would be the  
point if Fraser didn't see him? Well, the point would be the good deed,  
but good deeds weren't really his style. What he really wanted was to  
blow Fraser's mind. Or maybe just to blow Fraser, he thought, and his  
smile softened into something much less plastic.  
        The  
woman stared at him, looking a little dazed, and licked her lips. Uh  
oh, he thought. Better watch that if you don't wanna get hauled into  
some Consulate closet by one of these people. He let his gaze and his  
smile go distant again, and she finally chose a salmon puff. Just as  
he started to move away, he felt the unmistakable brush of a hand against  
his backside, and swung around give the evil eye to whoever had helped  
themselves to an item not on the menu, only to find himself face-to-face,  
or rather face-to-top-of-head, with Meg Thatcher.  
        Her  
gaze moved slowly up from somewhere around crotch level, a rather predatory  
smile on her face, until her eyes came to rest on his face, and widened.  
She gasped audibly.  
        "Detective  
Vecchio!"  
        He  
grinned. "In the . . . flesh, Inspector."  
        "What  
are you doing here?" She hissed, looking around as if for assistance,  
or maybe just to make sure no one else had noticed. She looked great,  
in an elegant red dress cut surprisingly low in front.  
        "Helpin'  
out," he said, nodding toward his tray. "Heard you were short-handed.  
Speakin' of which, I don't know how things work up in Canada, but you  
 _do_ know we got laws against feelin' up the help in this country,  
doncha?"  
        Her  
face went beet red, which clashed alarmingly with the brilliant Mountie-scarlet  
of her dress. "It was purely accidental, Detective, I assure you!"  
        "Mmmhmm, I believe  
ya," he said, making sure she knew he didn't.  
        "Oh,  
look!" she exclaimed brightly. "There's the Roumanian ambassador.  
I'd love to chat more, but I'm afraid I really must go greet him."  
She took off as fast and as determinedly as four-inch-spike heels and  
a tight skirt allowed.  
        Ray  
admired the view. She was a definitely a babe. And apparently not as  
icy as she liked to let on. He'd file that fact for future use. You  
never knew when you'd need blackmail material. Musing on the rather  
flattering fact that the Ice Queen had just copped a feel, and trying  
to decide if he ought to feel guilty for finding that enjoyable, Ray  
spotted a flash of crimson just beyond the man Thatcher was making a  
beeline for. He squinted, trying to see if it was Fraser. Tall. Solid.  
Dark-haired. Red-jacketed. Either Fraser or Turnbull. Hopefully Fraser.  
He casually headed in that direction, trying to get close enough to bring  
his target into focus.

* * *  


        Considering  
the state things had been in when he'd arrived at the Consulate that  
afternoon, Fraser thought the reception was going rather well. Stanley  
Smith looked quite presentable in the tux Fraser had arranged for him  
to rent, and seemed to be doing a good job circulating among the guests.  
The caterer had even commented that she might use him again, which would  
be good, as a legitimate job might help steer the young man away from  
his criminal proclivities. The smell of melted plastic from the canapé  
tray Avery had inadvertently placed on a hot burner had been mostly dissipated  
by a few well-placed fans and some cinnamon and cloves simmering in a  
pan on the stove. Most importantly, there was a full compliment of guests,  
so the Inspector would be pleased by the success of the function.  
        He looked around, searching  
for Thatcher, and found her across the room, speaking to one of the waiters.  
She looked lovely, he thought. That dress must be new. He was sure  
she hadn't ever worn red to a Consular function before, other than on  
those occasions when she wore her dress uniform. In fact, she'd once  
commented that was exactly why she didn't have anything red in her personal  
wardrobe. She must have reconsidered her stance for some reason. It  
was just as well. As he'd observed before, red suited her.  
        Odd,  
though, she appeared to be quite flushed, in a shade that was not at  
all becoming with her gown. She seemed agitated. He frowned, wondering  
if there was some kind of difficulty with the catering. As he moved  
toward them, his gaze moved up from Thatcher's face to the waiter's,  
and he stopped so abruptly that someone behind him bumped into him.  
He was so stunned that it actually took him a moment to think to turn  
and apologize, but by then the person had moved on. He turned back,  
staring across the room at the apparition that met his eyes.  
        Ray.  
In a tuxedo. The sight literally took his breath away. The severe black  
jacket emphasized the lean lines of his body, and the deep vee of black  
shawl-collar lapels against snowy-white shirtfront made his hard chest  
seem broader and accentuated his narrow waist. Something as blue as  
his eyes glimmered at the top edge of his collarless shirt, drawing attention  
to the strong lines of his throat and jaw. He was clean-shaven for  
once, and his hair was spiked neatly. Really, that seemed a contradiction  
in terms, but somehow Ray had accomplished it, looking as if he'd just  
come from a stylist, looking . . . beautiful. Looking absolutely, one-hundred-percent  
edible.  
        The need,  
the pure, shining desire he'd felt that afternoon in the car came flooding  
back in a rush, nearly making Ben gasp aloud. He had to fight down the  
insane urge to cross the room and push Thatcher away from Ray, to shove  
him up against the wall and kiss him senseless, to rock his body into  
that long, lean form until they both . . . For God's sake, he admonished  
himself. You are a Mountie! Get yourself under control! He felt a  
trickle of sweat run down his neck, under his collar, cooling him a tiny  
bit. Yes. Control. That was it. Better. Much better. Still, it  
would be a moment or two before he could comfortably walk.  
        The  
Inspector turned away from Ray, looking distinctly flustered as she headed  
in Ben's direction. Her expression was nearly as effective as a chilled  
soft-drink can. Ben sighed. Ray had an uncanny ability to annoy his  
superior. He wondered what Ray had said or done this time, or if it  
was merely his presence that had set her off. Steeling himself for a  
confrontation, he was puzzled but relieved when Thatcher instead took  
the arm of the man in front of him, steering him off toward the bar.  
He stared after her for a moment, then looked back to find Ray slowly  
making his way toward the spot where he stood.  
        Fraser  
very nearly ran for cover, not at all certain he would be able to keep  
his hard-won control with Ray in the immediate vicinity. Then Ray's  
eyes met his, and he knew he would stay, would wait while three guests  
stopped Ray and took an inordinate amount of time to choose an hors d'oeuvre.  
Stayed while two of those guests gave _his_ Ray come-hither looks  
before leaving, causing him to experience the unusual desire to do something  
highly ungentlemanly to both of them. Then finally, finally, Ray was  
there, in his space, almost close enough to smell, almost close enough  
to taste. He gave a sultry smile, ducked his head a little, and looked  
at Fraser through his eyelashes flirtatiously.  
        "Coffee,  
tea, or me, Frase?" he whispered, barely audibly.  
        Fraser  
gasped, unable to stop himself. He closed his eyes, breathed, opened  
them again, cleared his throat and nodded meaningfully toward a less  
crowded corner of the room. Ray followed him, and once they were safely  
out of the main flow of traffic, Ben managed to speak.  
        "I  
must admit I am somewhat surprised to see you here, Ray."  
        One  
corner of Ray's mouth quirked up in a lopsided smile. "Yeah, I  
figgered that. So was her ladyship."  
        "What  
did you say to her?" Ben asked with some trepidation.  
        "Nothin'  
much. Just suggested maybe it's not a good idea for her to go around  
fondling the help."  
        "Ray!  
For heaven's sake!"  
        "Hey,  
she started it!" Ray said defensively. "Not my fault she  
picked my ass to grope!"  
        Fraser  
stared at Ray, looked over at Thatcher, and scowled, torn between jealousy  
and disbelief. "She did what?"  
        Ray  
grinned. "Your Ice Queen ain't as cool as she lets on."  
        "I'm sure it was  
just accidental, Ray."  
        "What,  
like I can't tell 'oh excuse me but it's crowded in here' from 'nice  
handful there, bud.'? Remember, Fraser, I'm a guy. An _American_  
guy. I've done my share. I know the difference."  
        Fraser  
considered that. Ray was right. He quite likely did know the difference.  
He remembered the look on Thatcher's face, the blush. Good God! His  
superior officer had actually . . . . He coughed.  
        "Yes,  
well, she's been under a great deal of stress about this function,"  
he offered lamely.  
        Ray  
chuckled. "Good save, Fraser. Hold this for a sec, would ya?"  
He held out the tray, which Fraser took automatically. Ray rolled his  
shoulders, then his neck, and sighed. "I'm outta practice. Carryin'  
that around gets old fast, I tell ya."  
        He  
reached over and snagged three of the salmon puffs, eating two himself  
and putting the other one in Fraser's mouth when he opened it to scold.  
Fraser had to stop and chew as Ray artistically repositioned one of the  
floral garnishes which had been disarranged by someone rooting for goodies.  
        "You know,  
Fraser, I always knew you Canadians were odd. Flowers go in the garden  
or on the table, not on the food."  
        Fraser  
swallowed his unwanted bite, and jumped to the defense of his country.  
"Actually, Ray, it was the caterer's idea, and she's American, not  
Canadian."  
        "Yeah?  
Well, she's a caterer, they're weird too," he said grinning. "Anyhow,  
Frase, I'd love to stay and chat, but since I'm doin' the 'serve' part  
of 'to serve and protect' here, I gotta get back on the beat. See ya!"  
        He took his tray from  
Fraser's hands and turned to go, then had to step back abruptly to avoid  
a couple who had just decided to move into the same spot. Surprised,  
Ray backed into Fraser, who reached out to steady him. Ray regained  
his balance, looked back over his shoulder with a grin, and pushed back  
harder with a slow, deliberate grind of his backside against Fraser's  
frontside.  
        "Gosh,  
sorry, Fraser," he said insincerely.  
        Fraser  
swallowed hard, hands clenching a little on Ray's hips as he fought the  
renewed surge of arousal.  
        "You  
can let go now," Ray said, sounding amused.  
        Fraser  
whipped his hands away, looking around guiltily, hoping no one had noticed.  
Thankfully it didn't seem anyone had. Ray stepped forward and Fraser  
took a moment to adjust his tunic, then finding his voice, he spoke.  
        "Ray?"  
        Ray turned, eyebrows  
lifted.  
        "You  
look . . . quite . . . well, nice," he said inadequately, wishing  
he could say what he really wanted to say, but knowing he couldn't.  
Not in a room full of people. Not with Inspector Thatcher only a few  
yards away.  
        A slow,  
pleased smile curved Ray's mouth, and a faint flush painted his skin.  
"Thanks, Fraser."  
        He  
headed off with his tray. Fraser watched him go, still feeling somewhat  
stunned by the new version of Ray. He'd always thought Ray was attractive,  
and very sexy. Those feelings were even stronger now. Distressingly  
so. He closed his eyes. "I am a Mountie," he muttered under  
his breath. "I am a Mountie. I am not a wild animal in heat. I  
am a Mountie."  
        "Constable  
Fraser?"  
        Fraser's  
head snapped up and he found himself gazing into Inspector Thatcher's  
frowning face.  
        "Ah,  
yes sir?" he responded automatically, praying he hadn't been speaking  
aloud.  
        "Are  
you feeling quite all right, Fraser? You look flushed."  
        "I'm  
fine sir, it's just a, a trifle warm in here." He tugged at his  
collar. "From the crowd, you know."  
        "Yes.  
Of course. Well, I, ah, was just wondering what you and Detective Vecchio  
were discussing, just now."  
        Fraser  
stared at her, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. Oh, God.  
He groped desperately for an innocuous subject. His gaze lit on the  
tray that Stanley Smith was carrying past them, and his mind kicked in.  
"Garnishes," he blurted out.  
        Thatcher's  
eyebrows rose. "Garnishes?"  
        "Yes.  
We were discussing the, ah, the floral garnishes, on the trays,"  
he improvised, fingers of one hand crossed behind his back.  
        "I  
see," she gave him an odd look. Well then, good, carry on."  
        "I shall, sir."  
        "Good. Do that.  
I'm just going to go over to the bar now."  
        "Yes,  
sir."  
        She stared  
at him a moment longer, still frowning, then shook her head and moved  
away. Fraser let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't, quite, lied to his  
superior officer. He wouldn't be damned for all eternity.

* * *  


  
        Ray spotted Thatcher  
talking to Fraser moments after he'd moved on, and thanked his lucky  
stars she hadn't shown up a minute earlier. With as much as she disapproved  
of him, he had no illusions about how peeved she would be if she caught  
him teasing 'her' Mountie. He knew he shouldn't, he really did, but  
he couldn't seem to help himself. Ben was just so teaseable! He was  
so honest that he never even thought to dissemble, and his responses  
were so beautiful. That blush. That stammer. The heat that warmed  
his eyes from ice to smoke. The unconscious flicker of tongue against  
lower lip. Ray hoped no one ever told Ben he did that, because he'd  
be mortified and stop, and it was so damned sexy that would be a crime.  
        Teasing the Mountie.  
A plot began to form in his head. He smiled evilly. The best thing  
about teasing Ben was that he was far too polite to kill him for doing  
it. Of course, he would make him pay, somehow. Preferably pleasurably.  
A warm glow spread through him and he looked over to see that Thatcher  
had left Ben and gone over to the bar. His evil grin resurfaced. There  
was more than one Mountie here to tease, too.  
        He  
noticed Stanley Smith heading for the kitchen with a nearly-empty tray,  
and eyed him assessingly. Yeah, he'd do. If the Ice Queen liked 'em  
slim with a nice ass, that is, and judging from her earlier grope, she  
did. He decided his tray needed refurbishing as well and followed his  
fellow waiter into the kitchen. As the caterer moved what was left on  
their used trays to the fresh ones, he checked the contents of his wallet,  
then sidled over to Smith.  
        "Hey,  
Stanley, wanna earn an extra fifty bucks?"  
        The  
younger man looked at him narrowly. "Depends on what I gotta do  
to get it."  
        Ray  
laughed. "You? Scruples? Gimme a break."  
        That  
earned him an answering laugh, then a sheepish smile "Just don't  
wanna screw up this gig, Vecchio. It's a real job."  
        Vecchio.  
God, sometimes he hated that name. He was so tired of being Vecchio.  
He forced that thought aside, and pasted on a smile.  
        "No  
problem my man, none at all. I'm not even gonna ask you to help me hide  
a corpse. All you have to do is put yourself as close as possible to  
a certain female out there, as often as possible. Now, don't touch  
her or anythin', you'd get in trouble an' we don't want that. Just be  
. . . around. Close enough to make her fingers itch."  
        Stanley's  
eyebrows went up. "Tell me she's not eighty, okay?"  
        Ray  
grinned. "C'mere, I'll point her out." He took Stanley down  
the hall and they waited just outside the room until Thatcher came into  
view. "That's her in the red, with the cleavage."  
        Stanley  
whistled. "That?" He swung around, frowning. "Why?"  
        Ray grinned. "Let's  
just say I got a score t'settle."  
        "You  
sure I won't get in trouble?"  
        "Hey,  
you'll just be doin' yer job, right? Can you help it if you have to  
walk around the room and pass by her? A lot?"  
        The  
younger man chuckled. "True. Okay, you're on." As they walked  
back toward the kitchen, he suddenly stopped, frowning. "Wait!  
What if she does go for the, uh, 'bait?' What do I do?"  
        "That's  
up to you, Stan," Ray said with a wink. "But I prob'ly wouldn't  
kick her outta bed for eatin' crackers."  
        Actually,  
he would, he thought with a little smile. But only because he preferred  
what, or rather who, he had there now. Someone who would never dream  
of eating crackers in bed. It just wouldn't be polite. Still smiling,  
Ray picked up a tray and headed back to the reception to dispense more  
treats, crostini with roasted red peppers this time, and some kind of  
little filo triangle things.  
        Standing  
in the doorway Ray surveyed the room until he found Fraser. Slowly,  
unobtrusively, he began to work his way that direction. His path took  
him past Thatcher, who stood chatting with an older woman. He made a  
subtle little show of turning to face Thatcher as he passed, and saw  
her face go pink. Unable to resist, he stopped next to them, politely  
proffering his tray. Thatcher's blush got deeper, and the other woman  
looked from her to him with a slight frown, then shrugged and took one  
of the filo things, leaning to whisper something to Thatcher who just  
about choked on her wine. Ray wished, not for the first time, that he  
had Fraser's hearing. Figuring that he'd give himself away if he stayed  
any longer, he continued on his meandering course toward Fraser.  
        Finally he stood adjacent  
to the Mountie, who was conversing with a short, olive-skinned man in  
a tux draped with what looked like beauty-pageant sashes and Christmas-tree  
ornaments. After trying to eavesdrop for a moment, Ray realized they  
were speaking French, and gave up, content to stand there eyeing the  
way the Mountie's red tunic flared out in a gentle slope over Fraser's  
butt. It wasn't quite as nice a subject for perusal as the butt itself,  
but it was a pretty good substitute. So was the way the belt defined  
his waist and made the shoulders above it look that much broader. And  
the way his hair was so dark against the snow-pale skin at the back of  
his neck. Hell, he could just drool out here for a few, no problem.  
        After a couple of minutes  
the guy with the sashes started to look glazed-over, and made some excuse  
to wander away. Ray figured Fraser had been telling Inuit stories again.  
Not that they couldn't be fascinating, when one was in the right mood,  
but Fraser just didn't seem to have the knack of knowing when someone  
was or wasn't in the mood. For Inuit stories, anyway. He'd finally  
gotten clued in to certain other moods, though, at least when Ray had  
them. Which was pretty much all the time.  
        Subtly  
he managed to position himself so that if Fraser turned, he'd be plastered  
up against Ray's backside. Then he sighed. Of course, Mr. Bat-ears  
heard it and turned to see what was the matter. Ray braced himself against  
the bump and just swayed a little, not losing a single crostini off his  
tray, then turned, with his best flirtatious grin.  
        "Gettin'  
anxious, Frase? I guess we could slip off to yer office . . . ."  
Funny, Fraser and Thatcher blushed just about the same color.  
        "I'm  
terribly sorry, Ray," Fraser said, taking a step back. "I  
didn't realize you were quite so close."  
        Ray  
shrugged as best he could. "No problem. You sure you don't wanna  
. . ."  
        "Ray!"  
Fraser hissed, looking around. "Please!"  
        "Oh,  
you want one of these?" Ray asked ingenuously, holding out the  
tray.  
        "No, I  
don't want one of those," Fraser snapped. "But if you could  
kindly refrain from-- ah, Inspector Thatcher." Fraser's somewhat  
strained expression rearranged itself into blank politeness as the Ice  
Queen walked up to them. "May I say how lovely you look in that  
dress? It's new, isn't it?"  
        Thatcher  
looked down at herself as if to check and see what she was wearing, and  
looked back up. "Yes, it is, Fraser, thank you."  
        "May  
I be of assistance in any way?" Fraser asked, sounding suspiciously  
hopeful.  
        "Actually,  
I wanted to speak to Detective Vecchio for a moment."  
        Fraser  
looked quizzically at Ray, who made his innocent face back. He hadn't  
done anything to annoy Thatcher. Not that she could prove, anyway.  
        "Alone, Constable,"  
Thatcher said pointedly.  
        Fraser  
hesitated for a moment, then moved away, leaving them alone. Ray gazed  
at Thatcher expectantly. She stared back. He waited. Nothing.  
        "You, uh, wanted  
to talk to me?" he prompted.  
        She  
jumped. "Yes. Right. I. . . I ah, I just wanted to thank you,  
Detective."  
        "For?"  
        "For not mentioning  
. . . I mean, well, I mean, for your . . . assistance. With the function,  
of course."  
        "Oh,  
that. No problem. Fraser's a friend of mine, and friends help each  
other out, right?"  
        "Right.  
I, ah, so, what was it about the garnishes that interested you?"  
        Ray frowned. "Garnishes?"  
        "Yes. Fraser told  
me that earlier, after I inadvertently, well, _you know_ , that you  
didn't say anything to him. That you were just discussing the floral  
garnishes on the caterer's trays."  
        Ray  
had a great deal of difficulty trying not to laugh. Fraser had managed  
to find a way to lie to Thatcher without technically lying. So much  
could be accomplished by omission and half truth.  
        "Right,"  
he said. "I was just sayin' to Fraser that it's big now to use  
flowers as garnish," he lied, figuring Fraser owed him bigtime on  
this one. He looked nodded toward his tray. "You can even eat some  
of 'em," he said, dredging up a bit of trivia from his childhood.  
"Nasturtiums, and the little blue ones, borage, I think. They're  
edible. Same with the mallows, an' even pansies, though I'm not sure  
about the lavender . . . " he trailed off, because Thatcher was  
staring at him like he'd grown a second head. On his shoulders. "What?"  
he demanded, frowning.  
        Thatcher  
blinked. "I'm sorry. I was just surprised, that's all. I had  
no idea you knew anything about flowers."  
        Oops.  
Shit. That's what he got for trying to be smart. Flowers were not something  
a hard-assed Chicago police detective was supposed to know. If that  
got out, he would never live it down. Even if he had come by the knowledge  
honestly, working alongside his mother in her garden when he was a kid.  
Damn, he hoped Thatcher wouldn't mention it to Fraser, or to anyone else  
for that matter. Okay, misdirect, and maybe she'll forget about it.  
He grinned and winked.  
        "I'm  
just fulla surprises, sweets."  
        That  
did it. She looked at him with the faintly disgusted grimace that was  
her usual expression around him. "Yes, I'm sure you are, Detective.  
Excuse me."  
        He  
watched her go with a smile. He'd hit that one just right. All she  
would remember was the annoying Romeo move, not flowers. Oh yeah, he  
was full of surprises all right, he thought, glancing over at Fraser  
who had been pretending he wasn't watching them from a few yards away.  
Full of surprises.  


* * *  


        

        Fraser locked the back  
door and leaned his forehead against it tiredly. Finally, everyone was  
gone. The quiet was a blessed relief. He hated these kind of events  
with a passion. Too much noise, too many people drinking too much alcohol.  
These receptions were one of the few drawbacks he'd found to living at  
the Consulate, although, recently he'd discovered a new reason why it  
might be nice to have his own place once more . . . or perhaps to share  
a place, if that became an option. Tonight's reception had been better  
than most, because Ray had been there. It had also been worse than most,  
for the very same reason.  
        He  
shook his head, smiling ruefully. Ray had been absolutely merciless  
all night. As if his mere presence hadn't been arousing enough, his  
partner had managed to keep brushing against him, standing too close,  
making eye contact then doing suggestive things with his tongue. Trying  
quite deliberately to drive him out of his mind, Fraser was sure. He'd  
very nearly succeeded. Ben had actually, with complete seriousness,  
contemplated dragging Ray off to the nearest closet. But duty and decorum  
had won out in the end.  
        He  
stood there for a moment, desperately wanting to go through that closed,  
locked door, out into the night and over to Ray's apartment. But Ray  
was no doubt long asleep and it was only a few hours until they both  
would have to be up and working. No, it was too late now. He'd known  
he would be spending tonight alone when he'd insisted Ray go home after  
the reception. It had been the right thing to do, if also one of the  
more difficult things he'd ever done.  
        With  
a sigh, he straightened up and untucked the dishtowel from his waistband,  
placing it over the hook where it belonged. Picking up his tunic from  
the chair where he'd carefully placed it before pitching in to help the  
caterer clean, he turned out the light and headed for his office. Something  
soft crushed under his boot and he stopped to pick it up, found himself  
holding a crumpled deep garnet mallow blossom. It must have fallen off  
one of the trays.  
        He  
moved on, and found another flower a few steps further on. Then a third.  
He frowned, paying attention now. Odd. Why would the caterer have been  
back in this area? It was almost as if someone had been marking a trail  
with them. A trail that led to . . . . He stopped in his tracks, looking  
from the handful of blossoms he held to the door of his office. He started  
to smile, despite the little voice in his head telling him that it was  
completely inappropriate to even think about using a consular office  
for what he was thinking about, even if it was also his bedroom. With  
considerably more enthusiasm than previously, he put his hand on the  
doorknob and quietly pushed open the door.  
        The  
shelf lamp was on, shedding a soft glow over the figure on his cot.  
Ray lay there in the boneless relaxation of sleep, one hand behind his  
head, one knee cocked to the side. A red-orange nasturtium blossom was  
tucked behind his left ear. He had removed his jacket, shoes and socks,  
and unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up to mid-forearm. Several  
studs had been removed from his shirt, and the open vee bared shadowed  
golden flesh down to about his sternum. There were flowers threaded  
through each unoccupied buttonhole.  
        A  
stem of deep blue-violet lavender was wound through the silver-bead bracelet  
on his right wrist. A jumbled pile of nasturtiums, lavender, mallows  
and pansies nestled casually in the crease that formed in his pants along  
his groin, as if dropped there when the hand that lay lax on his thigh  
had released them as sleep had come. He looked like a faun, or some  
modern-day Puck. Bacchanal and beautiful. In every possible way.  
        The flowers evidenced  
a side of Ray that Ben suspected his partner had shown only to two people  
in his entire life: Stella, and himself. The gentle, romantic soul that  
hid behind the tough, frenetic mask. Strong, but delicate; aggressive,  
yet vulnerable. All those contradictory things that were essentially,  
inseparably, Ray. The dichotomy that was perfectly exemplified by his  
unrepentant teasing during the reception, and now this . . . this offering,  
when none had been expected or anticipated.  
        Ben  
closed his eyes against the rush of feeling, so intense it stole his  
breath. It didn't matter that they were in his office, that this was  
utterly inappropriate. He needed this. He needed Ray. Now. Here.  
For the first time he could remember, he locked the door. Diefenbaker  
raised his head momentarily, looked at Ben, then lowered his muzzle to  
his paws once more, eyes closing. Apparently he didn't find it odd that  
Ray should be here, or that Ben should have locked the door. Ben took  
that as a sign.  
        He  
went to his knees beside the cot, and leaned over, putting his lips to  
the hollow at the base of Ray's throat, touching his tongue to skin,  
tasting the minerals left there by sweat, a faint hint of shaving cream  
or soap. He breathed deeply, inhaling the unique combination of odors  
that made up Ray's personal scent. Instantly he was hard as steel, aching.  
He felt unaccountably dizzy as he moved his mouth down that hard, admittedly  
somewhat bony chest which he found more beautiful than any sculpted model's,  
only to be stopped by closed shirt-front.  
        Ray  
stirred, stretching slightly, a little 'mmmm' sound escaping his lips  
as his hand lifted and came to rest on the back of Ben's neck, fingers  
idly toying with the short-cropped hair there. "Thought you were  
never gonna come to bed," his lover said softly, his voice husky  
with sleep and desire.  
        "Had  
I realized you were waiting, I would have hurried," Ben said, lifting  
a hand to push the shirt open, baring more responsive territory. He  
licked at a nipple, then sucked. Ray arched beneath his mouth, fingers  
threading into his hair, tugging him up when the sensation got too intense,  
which it quickly did.  
        "Stop,  
Frase, you know that kills me!" he gasped, breathless.  
        Ben  
smiled. "I believe the saying is 'turnabout is fair play.'"  
        Ray chuckled. "Was  
I mean to you?"  
        "Terribly  
cruel, Ray."  
        "Sorry,"  
he offered, fingers sliding down Ben's face to trace the line of his  
mouth. "I just couldn't help myself."  
        "Do  
you have any idea what you do to me?" Ben whispered, then sucked  
Ray's index finger into his mouth, stroking it with his tongue, mimicking  
a more intimate act.  
        Ray  
shuddered, his hips lifting a little. "Yeah, Ben, I know,"  
he rasped. "'Cause you do the same thing to me." He drew his  
hand back toward his face, and Ben moved with it, unwilling to relinquish  
his plaything yet. Ray grinned. "Lucky me, I get the guy with  
the oral fixation."  
        Ben  
laughed, letting him go, and Ray lifted his head until their lips met,  
and they both indulged in a certain orality, the soft play of lips, tongues,  
and breath. Fraser picked up a spray of lavender and used it to stroke  
Ray's chest and throat. Ray pulled away, breaking the kiss, then reached  
down for one of the red-orange blossoms from the heap on his thigh.  
Opening his mouth he put the bloom on his tongue, and pulled Ben back  
down. This time the velvet of petals and the faint, citrus-sweetness  
of the flower augmented their kiss, until Ray swallowed it, wringing  
an anticipatory shudder from Ben. Ray eased back, and reached up to  
tug at one of Fraser's suspenders.  
        "Clothes.  
Off. Now."  
        Ben  
nodded, amused by the monosyllabic order, and sat back, peeling down  
the straps, then tugging his undershirt off over his head. Ray turned  
on his side to watch Ben undress, unabashedly admiring. When Fraser  
stood up to unfasten his pants, Ray reached out and hooked a finger in  
his waistband to pull him forward and rub his nose across his groin,  
pretending to bite at the hardness he found beneath the fabric, making  
Ben gasp. He let go after a moment, and looked up at Fraser mischievously.  
        "Swear ta God, Frase,  
yer the only person in the world who can look sexy in jodhpurs. But  
yer even sexier outta them, so peel down."  
        Fraser  
stood for a moment looking down at him, then he shook his head and leaned  
down pushing Ray onto his back once more. Ray grinned and put his hands  
under his head as Ben unfastened the button at Ray's waist, eased down  
the zipper, then stopped suddenly. Having expected Ray, as was his wont,  
to be wearing nothing at all beneath the tailored slacks, the sensual  
resilience of silk under his fingertips was startling. His eyes lifted  
to Ray's, brows raised. Ray grinned.  
        "Can't  
wear a tux without anything under, it just ain't done. So I figgered  
if I had ta wear somethin' it oughtta be . . . comfortable. An' you  
can keep doin' that," he said, arching, catlike, into Ben's stroking  
fingers. "That's nice."  
        Ben  
stopped.  
        "Gettin'  
back at me?" Ray asked, looking amused and put out, simultaneously.  
        Ben attempted to look  
wounded. "Of course not . . . " he began, then felt the truth  
welling up in his throat and couldn't stop it. "Well, yes,"  
he admitted with a sigh. He couldn't even lie when it didn't matter.  
        Ray laughed out loud.  
"God, I love ya! Get down here!"  
        He  
reached up and put his arms around Ben, dragging Ben down on top of him.  
They were starting to rock against each other despite the fact that they  
were both half-clothed, when an ominous creaking brought Ben's head up  
abruptly. He went still, looked down at Ray, and then rolled quickly  
off to kneel on the floor. Ray looked up, gasping and bemused, struggling  
back toward alertness.  
        "What?  
We got prowlers or somethin'?"  
        "No,  
nothing like that. I was just a trifle concerned that the cot is old,  
and probably not up to our combined weights."  
        Ray  
thought about that for a moment, sat up, then stood up, and peeled off  
his shirt, tossing it aside. His pants went next, followed moments later  
by the black silk boxers. Ben closed his eyes, trying to quell the instant  
need that a completely naked Ray brought out in him. Then hands were  
pushing him gently backward, and he opened his eyes to find out why.  
Ray grabbed the pillow off the cot and tossed it to the floor, then he  
was slipping between Ben and the cot, kneeling on the pillow, hands braced  
against the cot's frame.  
        "There.  
See? No problem."  
        God,  
it was tempting, so tempting. But impossible. "Ray, no. We can't,  
not . . . that way."  
        Ray  
looked back at him, puzzled. "Why not? It's not like we ain't  
done it before. I like it that way."  
        Ben  
felt a blush creeping up his neck. "I'm afraid I'm not . . . I  
don' t have anything here that we could . . . I mean, I never expected  
to . . ."  
        Ray  
sighed, shaking his head, and reached over to grab his pants from where  
he'd tossed them, dug in a pocket, then held up a small bottle. "Don't  
leave home without it," he intoned solemnly.  
        Ben  
shook his head, smiling. And people said _he_ was the one who was  
always prepared. Ray put the bottle in Ben's hand and looked at him  
hungrily.  
        "Now,  
Ben. I been thinking about this way too long to wait now."  
        He turned away again,  
back arched slightly as he braced his hands on the cot again, his slim  
body practically smoldering with tension. His urgency was nearly irresistible,  
but Ben hesitated.  
        "I'm  
still dressed, Ray."  
        Ray  
twisted back around, lithe and pantherish, and proceeded to unfasten  
Ben's pants, roughly dragging them down to mid-thigh along with his boxers.  
"There. Now?"  
        Now.  
God. Now.

* * *  


  
        Like that. Oh man, yeah,  
just like that. Ray felt the roughness of wool against the insides of  
his thighs as Ben moved in close, and above that the silky warmth of  
his lover's skin. There was something incredibly abandoned about the  
idea of doing it in Fraser's office, in the consulate, with him still  
half in uniform. Who'd have thought that getting it on with a guy in  
jodhpurs and granny boots could be so damned erotic? Fingers, slick  
with lubricant, stroked and caressed between his cheeks, drawing teasing  
patterns on the outside until he thought he would go nuts, but never  
giving him what he needed. It was all he could do not to hump the cot,  
which would probably hurt, so he really had to remember not to.  
        Reading his need, Ben  
slid an arm around his waist and cupped his cock, stroking it, far too  
gently. He was dying here. He needed hard, and fast, and deep, and  
Fraser was playing nice. He pumped himself into Ben's hand, giving  
him a hint. His lover laughed softly, a low, sensual sound, and one  
teasing finger stopped teasing and slid deep, piercing him, making him  
gasp, hips jerking in response.  
        "Please,"  
he moaned, utterly unashamed. "God, Ben, please!"  
        He  
pushed his hips back, leaning forward with his weight on his arms, head  
bent, offering himself as fully as he knew how. He heard a sound, almost  
a growl and knew he was having an effect on Fraser, 'cause it sure wasn't  
the wolf, who was sleeping obliviously. That first finger was joined  
by a second, then a third, almost too fast, but he was learning how to  
yield, how to let himself adjust. He breathed into the feeling, felt  
relaxation warming through him, then just as he thought he'd gotten there  
the fingers were sliding out again and Ben was sliding in and oh god  
it hurt but it felt so good and yeah, yeah, there, just there, all the  
way. He moaned, and heard it echoed from behind him. Felt Ben's forehead  
against the back of his neck, heard the harsh panting of his breath.  
Yeah, go for it, go for it babe. . .  
        A  
slight shift of position, knees spreading his thighs wider, hands on  
his hips pulling him back hard onto each thrust. He sensed a kind of  
wildness in Fraser that he hadn't felt in him before, and encouraged  
it, panting his name, urging him toward completion, uncaring of his own  
need. He'd get there eventually, right now he just wanted to feel Ben  
lose it. He used words he could never use with Fraser in any other venue,  
and felt them hit like body blows, torquing that wildness higher. Then  
there were teeth in his shoulder and the cock deep in his body was pumping  
hard, and Fraser was sobbing like he'd just heard there was no Santa,  
tears mixed up with panting and gasping and the last shuddering waves  
of orgasm.  
        Ray  
waited until he could feel Ben softening inside him, and eased away with  
a slight twist of his hips, smothering a gasp as they disengaged, simultaneously  
dragging the covers off the cot and turning to wrap them around Ben,  
who was hiding his face against his arm. He eased both of them down  
onto the floor in a gentle embrace, hands stroking soothingly down Ben's  
back, brushing his lips over Ben's lips, kissing the salt from his eyelashes.  
        "Jesus, Ben, what's  
wrong?" he whispered after Ben had finally begun to subside.  
        What came out was garbled,  
but sounded suspiciously like "I'm sorry." Ray sighed, and  
soothed the Mountie some more, stroking him gently.  
        "You  
got nothin' to be sorry for, Ben. Just tell me what's wrong."  
        "Sorry," he  
managed. "Too hard, too fast. I . . . hurt you."  
        "No  
you didn't! Geez, I think I'd know."  
        "You  
didn't finish . . ."  
        "So?  
We got some kinda deadline? Relax. I'm fine. I'm not hurt, and I think  
I can handle a little delay. Now that can't be what's botherin' you,  
so spill."  
        Ben  
rocked his head back and forth against Ray's chest. "Nothing."  
        "Not nothing. You  
don't cry for nothing. What's wrong?"  
        Ben  
pushed him gently away and lay back with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling.  
"I don't know. I just felt so . . . out of control."  
        Ray  
smiled. "It's okay to be out of control now and then, Ben. It  
really is. You're just a man. You're not perfect, you're not superman.  
Okay?"  
        Ben curled  
away again, his arm back over his face, concealing, protecting. Ray  
reviewed what he'd just said, and none of it struck him as particularly  
painful. For him, anyway. But maybe not for Fraser. He thought about  
what he knew of his lover's past, not much, but what there was seemed  
awfully full of pain for as sweet a soul as Ben. He thought about what  
he would feel if he'd grown up as Ben had, what it must have been like  
for him to lose his mom so young, for his dad to be so distant that he  
learned about him only through his diaries after he was dead. Then there  
was the whole Victoria thing, and then Vecchio . . . shit. That was  
it. There was the pattern, staring him in the face. Goddamn.  
        Ray felt a wrenching  
pain inside as understanding came. He'd been there himself, in the same  
emotional black hole, though he hadn't been through it quite as often  
as Ben had. And it was worse for Ben because it had started earlier,  
when he was just little, and didn't understand that sometimes people  
didn' t have a choice about going away. That had set the whole thing  
in motion. God, no wonder he tried so damned hard to be perfect. It  
was heartbreaking  
        Everyone  
Ben had ever loved had abandoned him, or worse, used him. Ray knew,  
he just knew, that illogical as it was, somewhere deep inside Ben thought  
those things were all his fault, that somehow, if he could just be more  
perfect, then people would love him, and maybe, stay. Ray understood  
that, viscerally. Illogic was his fort, after all. It seemed like nobody  
ever stayed anymore, and he needed that too, probably as much as the  
Mountie did. He put his hands on Ben's shoulders, stroking gently.  
        "It's all right,  
Ben. You don't have to be perfect all the time. I'll love ya anyway.  
It's okay to sometimes be selfish, to sometimes do stuff that's just  
for you. I won't love you any less. And I won't use you." He  
tightened his arms around the warm, solid body he held, ducking his head  
so his lips were against Ben's ear. "And I won't leave you. I promise,"  
he whispered.  
        Ray  
had meant it to be reassuring, and grounding, but he felt Ben stiffen  
in his arms, heard him draw a deep, shaky breath, then there was hot  
wetness streaking down his shoulder where Ben's face was pressed against  
it and the shuddering wrack of held-in sobs. For a moment he was scared,  
wondering what he'd said wrong, and then he relaxed, understanding.  
This wasn't pain. This was catharsis. He held Ben, rocking gently,  
lips against his hair as he whispered stupid consoling things like 'it's  
okay,' which didn't mean anything, but at the same time meant everything.  
        Eventually Fraser  
settled down, his body relaxing, breathing evening out, deepening. When  
his arms went lax, Ray smiled, realizing he'd fallen asleep. That was  
kind of nice. No, it was very nice. It showed trust. He liked that,  
a lot. He shifted position, getting as comfortable as he could considering  
he was on the floor and tangled up in blankets and Mountie. His body  
still had a little current of fading arousal in it, and he thought a  
little wistfully about the fact that the 'minor delay' had just become  
a major one, but he wasn't about to wake Fraser up and make him take  
care of it. He might be a guy but he had _some_ sensitivity.

 

* * *  


  
        Ben woke to find himself  
in considerable discomfort. He was lying in the most peculiar position,  
as well as being wound up in blankets, and rather more than half-undressed,  
the fabric of his shorts and trousers cutting into his thighs. In fact,  
probably the only reason he hadn't woken in even more discomfort was  
that the Ray was holding him, his body acting as a bit of a cushion,  
though as thin as he was, he wasn't much of one. Still, he was definitely  
softer than the floor. Lifting his head, he noted that Ray appeared  
to be sound asleep, not to mention quite naked.  
        He  
put that together with his own dishevelment and their position, and everything  
came back to him. He was appalled. Good God, not only had he subjected  
Ray to an embarrassing emotional outburst, he'd compounded his transgression  
by then falling asleep on him! Embarrassed, he tried to ease himself  
out of Ray's grasp, only to have his arms tighten around him, stroking  
gently, a sleepy 'Sssssh, s'okay' falling from half-smiling lips.  
        "Ray?" he  
asked quietly.  
        "Mmm,  
what Frase?" Ray said, without opening his eyes.  
        "You're  
awake?"  
        "Yeh.  
You?" Ray asked, eyes still closed, lips still curved in that oddly  
serene smile.  
        "I  
am now."  
        "Feelin'  
better?"  
        Ben  
considered that. Actually, he was. Surprising as that seemed. Perhaps  
there was something to that school of thought which held that such emotional  
outpourings were actually healthy. "Yes, I am. Quite a lot better."  
        "Good. Figgered  
you might be."  
        "Ray,  
I think I should move, you must be uncomfortable."  
        Ray  
chuckled. "Nah, everythin' went to sleep awhile back. Doesn't  
bother me any more."  
        Fraser  
stared into Ray's face for a moment trying to decide if he were joking,  
and decided he wasn't. Instantly he was pushing himself away, scrambling  
to relieve his lover of his weight, only to be sabotaged by his own clothing  
and end up sprawled in an undignified heap on the floor. Ray grinned  
at him, amusement carving deep grooves around his mouth.  
        "An'  
here I thought I was the klutz. How come there's never a camera around  
when ya need one? Nah, quit tryin' t' get up, you'll never make it like  
that. Lay back an' lemme help."  
        Embarrassed,  
Ben lay back while Ray moved to kneel beside him, wincing a little as  
feeling began to return to those parts of him that had gone numb.  
        "Y'oughta get zippers  
put up the backs of these or somethin'," he said as he began unlacing  
Ben's boots. "They're a pain."  
        "Actually,  
Ray, they're quite comfortable," Ben said defensively.  
        "Not  
that kinda pain," Ray said, rolling his eyes as he finished with  
the first boot and tugged and wiggled it until it came free. "There.  
One down. I'm gettin' good at this." He unlaced the second boot,  
worked it off, and tossed it aside over Ben's protest. "You can  
pick 'em up later. Leaning forward he caught the waistbands of Ben's  
pants and shorts in both hands, easing them down from where they were  
wound around his thighs, then hauling them the rest of the way off inside-out  
and tangled together. "There ya go, 'free as nature first made  
man.'"  
        Fraser,  
in the midst of sitting up, suddenly froze in place and stared at Ray  
in amazement. Ray gazed back, eyebrows lifted.  
        "What?"  
he demanded.  
        "Ray,  
did you just quote John Dryden?"  
        A  
hectic flush painted Ray's golden skin, and his lashes shuttered his  
eyes. "Uh, yeah. Sorry."  
        "I  
had no idea you were familiar with Restoration-era poetry."  
        "Had t' memorize  
it fer a class once," Ray said self-consciously. "Just kinda  
popped up in my head."  
        Fraser  
studied him for a moment, reading his body language. It wasn't all a  
lie, he probably had memorized it for a class, but there was more to  
it than that. Something to explore at length some other time, perhaps,  
when there wasn't a more pressing matter at hand. He stood up and went  
to the S-through-Z file cabinet, opening the bottom drawer to get out  
his sweats, bracing himself against the cabinet to pull the pants on.  
        "Hey!" Ray  
protested. "Didn't I just get you UN-dressed, Fraser? What gives?"  
        "I need to go"  
he said nodding toward the door.  
        Ray  
frowned, "Go? Go where?"  
        "I  
need to _go_ ," he repeated with more emphasis.  
        There  
was a brief pause as Ray absorbed that, then he looked enlightened.  
"Oh! You need to _go_!"  
        "Yes,  
Ray." He pulled the shirt on over his head, tugging it down so  
that the RCMP logo was straight.  
        "Can  
I ask you somethin', Frase?"  
        Ben  
paused, hand on the doorknob. "Of course."  
        "We're  
the only people in the entire building, right?"  
        "Correct."  
        "So what's to keep  
you from walkin' out there in yer birthday suit?"  
        "Decorum,  
Ray," he said, swinging the door open and stepping out.  
        Fraser  
went through the routine actions of relieving himself and washing up  
on a kind of autopilot, his thoughts occupied with what had happened  
earlier, with the things Ray had said to him, and the stunningly selfless  
comfort he had offered. He stood at the sink, dripping, eyes closed,  
feeling a warmth seep through him that had nothing to do with water temperature,  
or desire. No one had ever said those things to him before. No one had  
ever told him it was alright to be less than perfect. No one had ever  
said they would stay.  
        While  
he knew, logically, that it might be an impossible promise to keep, Ray  
had said it, and more, he had meant it. The man was one of the most  
emotionally transparent people Fraser had ever known, and when he lied,  
it was painfully obvious. He really wanted to stay, had every intention  
of staying. That was the most amazing gift anyone had ever given him.  
He had no gift but himself to give in return.  
        Finished,  
he dried off and opened the door to find Ray standing on the other side  
of it, defiantly bare. He had to bite the inside of his lip to keep  
from smiling, not wanting Ray to think he was laughing at him, which,  
of course, he was, though not in a bad sort of way.  
        "All  
yours, Ray. There are towels and washcloths behind the door should you  
wish to use one."  
        "Thanks,  
Frase," he said, deliberately brushing against Ben as he moved into  
the small room and closed the door.  
        Fraser  
allowed himself to smile then, and walked slowly back to his office,  
where he spent a few moments picking up and folding scattered clothing,  
then untangling the bedding. He laid the blanket out neatly on the  
floor and covered it with the sheet, then took a second blanket from  
the closet with a quick, almost surreptitious grab. His father hadn't  
shown up all day and he wanted to keep it that way. God only knew how  
he'd react to finding his son _in flagrante delicto_ with his partner.  
Even if he had, sort of, given his blessing to it. Knowing exactly what  
he wanted to do when Ray returned, he moved his cot back against the  
wall and placed the second blanket so that it padded the hard edge.  
Then, skinning out of his sweats, he lay back to wait.

* * *  


  
        Ray stood outside Fraser's  
office, deliberately putting off the moment. He knew when he opened  
the door, he'd find Fraser on the other side, covered neck-to-ankle in  
his disgustingly pristine RCMP athletic gear. (Didn't he know sweats  
were supposed to be baggy and stretched-out and holey?) He was sure  
that Fraser would, with sincere regret, suggest that it was probably  
time for him to go home, since, after all, it was only a couple of hours  
until dawn. Not that Ray got up at dawn, but Fraser did, and he wouldn't  
change that just because he'd been up half the night. Only part of which  
time had been spent on extracurricular activities.  
        He  
really didn't want to open that door. But it was chilly in the hallway,  
and he was buck naked, mostly to prove a point, which he'd done. So,  
time to stop putting it off. Go on. Get it over with. Maybe if he  
played his cards right, he'd at least get a really solid kiss goodnight.  
        Ray sighed, and  
pushed open the door. And stopped, staring in stunned disbelief. Fraser.  
Naked. On the floor. He made a mental note to be sure to buy a lottery  
ticket sometime today, because clearly, his luck had just taken a serious  
upswing. He closed the door, and locked it, then turned back to Ben,  
who was looking at him with the most incredible expression on his face,  
almost glowing from inside. Okay, buy two lottery tickets.  
        He  
went to his knees on the carefully arranged blankets, put his hands on  
either side of Ben's face, and found his mouth, warm, and open, and God,  
passionate. His libido kicked back into high gear like he was sixteen  
again, and he moved to straddle Ben, his lips moving from mouth, to throat,  
to chest, to nipples, filling his senses with the taste, scent, and texture  
of his lover's body. Salt, sweat, and silk. He was heading further  
south when Fraser gently, but firmly, stopped him.  
        "No,  
Ray. This time is all for you."  
        Ray  
grinned. "Yeah, it sure is," he said, freeing himself from  
Ben's hands and resuming his explorations. Ben stopped him again.  
        "No, Ray. I mean  
it," he insisted earnestly. "I want to do, ah, I mean I . .  
. I want to give you . . ." Ben trailed off, blushing, biting his  
lip, eyes imploring Ray to finish the sentence he couldn't seem to.  
        God, was there ever anyone  
more adorable than this beautiful, sensual man who couldn't say the words  
'blow job' to save his life? Irresistible. Completely irresistible.  
The Mountie could ask him to lie down in traffic and he'd probably do  
it, if he looked at him out from under his eyelashes like that when he  
asked. Well, hell, he wasn't going to look his gift horse in the mouth.  
"Okay, Ben. Where d'ya want me?"  
        Fraser  
brightened, clearly relieved to have been spared the trauma of actually  
saying what he wanted to do. "There, Ray. Sit there." He  
nodded toward the cot.  
        Noticing  
that the cot had been moved and its hard edge padded with a folded blanket,  
it was clear to Ray that Fraser had planned this. Knowing exactly what  
Ben wanted, he saw no reason to play coy, so he sat down with his legs  
apart and shifted his weight until he was comfortably balanced. Ben  
cautiously put his hands on Ray's thighs, obviously remembering that  
he was ticklish there, and moved between his knees, leaning in, lifting  
his mouth.  
        Ray  
leaned down and met him, and they kissed languidly, tongues stroking.  
He felt Ben's hands slide up to his hips, then move down, and inward,  
fingers of one hand surrounding his erection, the other hand cupping  
the soft, sensitive folds beneath, tugging a little, rolling a little.  
Ray pulled his mouth away just a bit, catching Ben's lower lip in his  
teeth, nibbling, then moving back in to lick up into that hot, sweet  
mouth, tasting his taste, feeling the silky slickness of him. He shivered,  
pushing up into Ben's hand, imagining that luscious heat on his cock.  
        Of course, Ben couldn't  
do any of the things that Ray was imagining unless he stopped kissing  
him, so he reluctantly released Ben's mouth, and leaned back, head and  
shoulders against the wall, only then realizing why Ben had moved the  
cot. Where it had been before, there wouldn't have been back support.  
The Mountie thought of everything. Ben's fingers tightened slightly  
around him, stroking slowly, thumb slipping over the sensitive glans.  
Ray braced his hands to either side of his thighs, to keep himself from  
'helping.' He had to work on that impatience thing.  
        Ben  
sat back on his haunches, and Ray admired the way his muscles moved in  
his thighs, under his skin, sleek, like a seal's. He'd seen a movie  
once about people who turned into seals, or seals who turned into people  
or something like that. Sometimes he thought Fraser could probably do  
that, if he wanted to. Silly thing to think, but he couldn't seem to  
help thinking silly things about Fraser. Like about how beautiful he  
was, and how amazing it was that he truly seemed to find Ray's insecure,  
skinny, goofy-looking self worthwhile.  
        Ben's  
expression was serious, he was concentrating hard. Then he leaned down,  
lips parting. Ray fought to keep his eyes from closing with pleasure  
as that mouth descended, because the sight of Fraser going down on him  
was just about the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. Ben stroked his tongue  
down the underside of Ray's cock, using just the tip, hardening it, exerting  
a surprising amount of pressure for something as soft as a tongue. Geez,  
even his damned tongue was strong! He watched Fraser's cheeks hollow  
as he sucked, the visual as stimulating as the touch. Suck, tongue-flicker,  
swirl, bite, just hard enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck,  
then it all started over again, the pattern varying each time. Slow,  
so slow. Hands stroking him, fondling him in a steady, langorous rhythm.  
        His own hands lifted  
from the cot, reaching for Ben's head, reaching to guide him, to urge  
him to a faster pace, to bring a quicker end to the exquisite torture.  
But just before he touched the thick, dark silk of Ben's hair he heard  
his lover draw in a long, deep breath, and then his mouth was sliding  
down, and down, and . . . oh god, oh god, down further. As stunned pleasure  
sparked and spun in Ray's dazzled mind, Ben eased back up, and then,  
oh god, then he did it again. Down so far, impossibly far, yet he could  
feel it, see it. . . Ben swallowed, and he felt that too, all around  
him. Oh, god.  
        Involuntarily  
Ray shifted his thighs further apart, clenched his hands around the edge  
of the cot, and somehow managed not to thrust, deliciously terrified  
that if he did, Fraser would choke on him. Only he never did. He just  
slid and sucked and licked, and _swallowed_. Hands stroked, harder,  
urging him on, and he sensed it coming on like a semi-truck, and it seemed  
like forever but was probably only seconds before he lost it, totally.  
An explosive orgasm ripped upward from the deepest part of him, pounding  
through him with each pulsebeat, so strong and hard that if it hadn't  
felt so incredibly good, it would have hurt. He heard himself sobbing  
incoherent nonsense noises of delight, shuddering as he shattered into  
a million pieces.  
        When  
coherent thought returned, he was lying on the floor, wrapped in Fraser's  
arms, in that 'spoon' position that seemed so natural between couples,  
no matter their gender. He felt totally drained, as if even moving a  
pinkie was out of the question. Jesus God, where, and when, had Ben  
learned to do that? He almost asked, but it was too much effort. Right  
now, what he really had to do was that quintessentially guy thing. He  
really had to sleep. Not sleeping simply wasn't an option. Feeling  
a little stronger, he forced his recalcitrant body to move, and groped  
until he found one of Ben's hands, and threaded their fingers together,  
squeezing gently.  
        "Love  
you," he whispered sleepily.  
        "And  
I you, Ray," came the soft reply a second later, and he felt lips  
press against the back of his neck. He smiled, and shifted his free  
arm so it was up under his cheek, and closed his eyes. Gotta sleep.  
Fraser would make sure he woke up before he had to be at work. Sleep.

* * *  


  
        "Fraser? Constable  
Fraser? Are you all right?"  
        The  
words were accompanied by a tentative sounding knock, and an excited  
yip from Diefenbaker. Fraser sat bolt upright, blinking at the bright  
morning light pouring in through the window. Good God! It was broad  
daylight! His gaze went to the clock and he was appalled to see it was  
nearly nine in the morning. Then he looked around and felt sheer panic  
as his situation dawned on him. The voice and the knock belonged to  
Inspector Thatcher. He was in his office, lying naked in his bedroll  
with an equally naked Ray. There were clothes, both his and Ray's, lying  
on his desk where his paperwork should be, and sadly wilted flowers scattered  
all over the cot and the floor.  
        "Fraser?"  
Thatcher's voice called again. "Constable, are you in there?"  
        He saw Ray scowl, eyes  
still closed, saw him open his mouth, and slapped a hand over it, preventing  
him from telling his superior officer to piss off, or whatever colorful  
expression he might use to express his displeasure at being woken from  
a sound sleep. Ray struggled a little against his hand, eyes opening,  
then he saw Fraser with a finger pressed to his lips to indicate the  
need for silence. Ben could see the change in his eyes as their dilemma  
was borne in upon him; and his expression became a strange combination  
of fear and amusement. Actually, he could appreciate that. It was  
both terrifying and amusing. At Ray's nod, he lifted his hand from his  
mouth.  
        "A  
moment, Inspector," he called, pitching his voice to carry through  
the door, which, thank God they had locked. Diefenbaker stood by the  
door looking at him expectantly, clearly annoyed at this breach of routine.  
He was used to having had a walk long before this. Fraser was surprised  
he hadn't woken them up earlier. He mouthed 'Dief, sing!" and under  
cover of the wolf's complicit caroling, he put his lips to Ray's ear.  
        "Hide!"  
        Ray nodded, and scrambled  
for the closet. Fraser grabbed him and hauled him back. "Not _there_!"  
he hissed. That was all he needed, his father complaining about having  
a naked Yank in his office. "Under there." He nodded toward  
the kneehole of his desk.  
        Ray  
gave him a look that said he was once more wondering about Fraser's sanity,  
but managed to fold his lean form into the meager space. Fraser grabbed  
Ray's clothes and shoved them under the desk with his partner, then quickly  
pulled on his sweatpants.  
        "Constable,  
are you ill?" Thatcher called, sounding worried.  
        Fraser  
yanked the sweatshirt over his head and moved to the door. He caught  
Diefenbaker's gaze and mouthed "Quiet, please," then unlocked  
the door and swung it open wide. He knew that to try to hide anything  
by blocking the doorway would only make her suspicious. He would simply  
have to hope she didn't notice anything amiss.  
        "No  
sir, I'm not ill," he confessed, eyes fixed on a point just past  
her head.  
        She absorbed  
that, studied him, her gaze moving from his unshaven face to his hastily-donned  
athletic wear, to his bare feet, then back up. She frowned. "Are  
you sure, Constable? You look feverish."  
        He  
cleared his throat nervously. "I'm fine, sir."  
        "You're  
certain?"  
        "Yes,  
sir. I simply . . . overslept." He offered no excuse, only stated  
fact.  
        Her expression  
softened into understanding. "The reception did run rather late  
last night," she allowed. "And I'm sure you were up even later,  
cleaning, weren't you?"  
        He  
nodded. After all, he had been.  
        She  
looked apologetic. "I should have told you to take the morning  
off. Turnbull could have handled things for a bit, so long as there  
was nothing out of the routine. . ." her voice trailed off as her  
gaze went past him, and her gaze narrowed a bit, then shifted slightly  
upward, and she frowned.  
        He  
held his breath, hoping that whatever it was she had noticed, she wouldn't  
find it odd enough to comment on. After a moment she just shook her  
head and her gaze returned to his face.  
        "Well,  
in any case, just don't let it happen again, Constable."  
        "No  
sir, I won't," he agreed fervently. From here on out he would simply  
have to insist. No sex at the Consulate. No matter how tempting Ray  
was.  
        She nodded.  
"Good. I'll be in my office. I don't have anything on my schedule  
until nine forty-five."  
        He  
understood the implicit permission for him to take that long to appear  
for work. He wouldn't, of course. But it was good to know she wasn't  
going to make an issue of his tardiness. "Yes sir, thank you."  
        She moved off down the  
hall and Fraser quickly closed the door, leaning against it with a sigh  
of relief. A few seconds later Ray poked his head out from under the  
desk.  
        "Safe?"  
he whispered.  
        Ben  
nodded, reaching behind himself to click the lock into place again, just  
in case. Ray uncoiled himself from his hiding place, rubbing his shoulder  
with a wince and shooting a glance at the closet.  
        "What  
was wrong with the closet, anyhow?" he whispered, shaking out his  
shirt and pulling it on.  
        "I,  
ah, felt it was too metaphorical," he whispered back, wincing at  
his own choice of excuse. But he could hardly tell Ray the truth.  
        "Metaphorical?"  
Ray frowned a moment, then he chuckled. "Oh, I get it. Well, it  
ain't like we're _out_ , y'know. We're cops, fer chrissake."  
        Fraser shrugged helplessly.  
"I'm afraid I wasn't thinking clearly."  
        Ray  
shook his head, still smiling. "S'okay. Neither was I. Geez,  
I nearly bawled her out fer wakin' me up!"  
        They  
looked at each other, and their gazes locked, and they both started laughing,  
but couldn't do it aloud for fear of being overheard, which of course  
made it even funnier, and harder to stop. Finally Ray managed to wheeze  
himself out and picked up his shirt-studs from the desk, inserting them  
through the double-buttonholes in the shirt, after first removing the  
wilted flowers that had occupied them. Then he was stepping into those  
black silk boxers, and Fraser couldn't resist a touch, running his hand  
over Ray's hip, closing his eyes to better enjoy the sensation of silk  
moving over skin. Ray sucked in a sharp breath, and leaned to kiss him,  
then pulled back quickly, shaking his head.  
        "Damn,  
neither of us got any sense, do we? Ain't this how we got into this  
fix to begin with?"  
        Fraser  
nodded sheepishly. "I'm afraid so."  
        Ray  
pulled on his pants, tucked in his shirttails, and then zipped up. "Um,  
how should I get outta here? Back door?"  
        Fraser  
shook his head. "No, Constable Avery is likely there. He likes  
to work at the kitchen table." He looked at the window, remembering  
the time Maggie had climbed up there to surreptitiously enter the Consulate.  
Ray followed his gaze and sighed.  
        "Oh,  
hell. Okay, okay, but you owe me."  
        "Certainly.  
What stake?"  
        "Steak?"  
Ray said, deliberately misinterpreting. "Sounds great. Dinner's  
on you tonight."  
        Fraser  
nodded. It would make a nice change from Chinese, pizza, and those instant  
noodle things he lived on. Perhaps he could talk Ray into eating a  
salad as well. Some vegetables in his diet wouldn't go amiss. Ray pulled  
his shoes from beneath the cot and tied his shoelaces together, then  
draped the linked shoes around his neck. His socks went into his pockets,  
and then he picked up his jacket and handed it to Fraser.  
        "Hold  
this, and throw it to me when I'm down. It was too expensive to go climbin'  
in."  
        Fraser  
looked at the jacket, then at Ray, and his eyebrows went up. "This  
is yours?"  
        Ray  
scowled. "Yeah it's mine. What'd you think? I'm a rental kinda  
guy?"  
        "No,  
no of course not. I just, well, I suppose I didn't think at all. When  
I needed a tuxedo for the Scarpa case, you didn't mention it."  
        Ray's scowl turned to  
a grin so quickly it was dizzying. "That's 'cause you got a good  
two inches and at least thirty pounds on me. Huey's more your size."  
        "True," he  
looked at the jacket in his hands, his fingers smoothing over the satiny  
lining. "You really do look quite . . . spectacular in it."  
        Ray's face got flushed,  
and he looked away. "Um, I better go." He turned and opened  
the window, sitting on the sill, one leg outside, one in.  
        Fraser  
joined him at the window, and reached out, touching his fingertips to  
one flushed cheek. "You are beautiful, Ray."  
        The  
blush deepened. "C'mon, Frase, yer the good-lookin' guy."  
        Ben sighed, wondering  
if he would ever manage to convince Ray he was telling the truth. "I'll  
see you at six, then?" he asked, allowing himself to be diverted.  
        "Six it is.  
Don't work too hard."  
        Fraser  
frowned. "Why would I not work hard, Ray?"  
        Ray  
rolled his eyes and shook his head. "It's just a sayin', Frase,  
like 'don't do anythin' I wouldn't do,' which," he grinned evilly,  
". . .as you know, ain't much. See ya."  
        He  
studied the route for a moment, then eased his other leg out the window,  
and slid out, holding the sill and feeling for toeholds. Then he began  
to move, and mere moments later he was on the ground. Fraser was impressed.  
Ray was an excellent climber. He stood on the ground below the window  
and held out his hands. Fraser tossed down the jacket, and Ray shrugged  
into it and headed off, whistling faintly, still barefoot. Fraser watched  
him until he was out of sight around the corner, and then quickly turned  
away. He had to get ready for work, and Diefenbaker still needed a walk.  
He'd best get a move on.

* * *  


  
        Meg Thatcher stood in  
her office, smiling a little as she recalled the oddly attractive young  
man who'd seemed quite taken with her last night. Of course, he was  
far too young for her, and from what she had gleaned from Fraser, was  
one of those streetwise types she normally detested. However, it had  
been quite flattering how often he seemed to place himself in her path.  
Maybe she'd get Fraser to make sure he was able to work the reception  
for the Cattlemen's Association next week. And maybe without Vecchio  
around she could manage a covert touch or two. Her face heated as she  
recalled that moment when the waiter with the tight little butt had turned  
around and she'd realized to her horror that it was Vecchio. Or whatever  
his name really was. She should ask Fraser, surely he knew.  
        Thinking  
of Fraser made her frown. He had certainly been acting oddly this morning.  
She'd been stunned to arrive a few minutes before nine and not find him  
up and working. She couldn't remember a similar occasion. Her concern  
had been exacerbated by finding his door locked. He never, ever locked  
his door, as she had learned to her own embarrassment on at least one  
occasion. And then for him to have overslept? Even more unheard of.  
Yet, he professed to be fine. Strange.  
        Then  
there had been his office, which had been in unusual disarray. His cot  
had been bare of blankets, those being in a tangled heap on the floor  
rather than neatly on the cot. There had been what looked like flowers  
scattered on the floor as well as on the coverless cot, and a handful  
of small, oddly-shaped metal objects on his desk, including one that  
was gold and blue. That kept nagging at her. She knew she'd seen them  
before, knew she ought to know what they were, it was right at the edge  
of her recollection, but avoiding it handily. Ah well, it would come  
to her eventually.  
        With  
a sigh she went to the window and looked out. It seemed as if it was  
going to be a beautiful day, sunny and cool. It made her a bit homesick.  
As she stared out at the day, movement down the street caught her eye  
and she saw a man walking away from her, toward one of the cars parked  
about half a block from the consulate, in a spot that was only legal  
between seven p.m. and seven a.m. He walked with a bit of a saunter  
that was vaguely familiar to her, so she kept watching as he stopped  
and leaned over to tug two parking tickets from underneath his windshield  
wiper. Stuffing them in his pants pocket, he then proceeded to drop  
his keys on the ground. As he bent to pick them up she realized he was  
barefoot. Now that was odd.  
        Finally  
he turned to unlock the car, and she saw his profile. That wasn't .  
. . no, it couldn't possibly be him. She watched more closely as the  
man swung the door open, took what appeared to be a pair of shoes from  
around his neck and tossed them into the car, then finally turned toward  
her as he got in. It was. It really was Vecchio. The fake one, not  
the real one. The one who'd been helping at the reception last night.  
The one whose butt she'd patted.  
        What  
was he doing here? Fraser wasn't off work for hours yet, so he couldn't  
be here to pick him up. No, wait. He'd gotten not just one, but two  
parking tickets, which meant he had to have been here awhile. The meter  
maid always came down the street at about ten after seven to ticket all  
the people parked illegally from the previous night, and returned about  
an hour later to do it again. In addition, Vecchio was wearing the same  
thing he'd been wearing last night, though of course, he'd had shoes  
on last night. She was a trained observer, and remembered his outfit  
clearly, black tux, white shirt with studs rather than buttons, no tie.  
The collar stud had been gold with a blue stone.  
          
Fraser oversleeping. Shirt studs on the desk. Gold and blue. Fraser  
unshaven and disheveled, lips even pinker than usual, with that slightly  
swollen look that sometimes resulted from a lot of kissing. Had he been  
anyone else, she'd have said he looked like he'd spent the night making  
love but since it was Fraser it hadn't even occurred to her. Until now.  
Flowers on the floor, on the cot. Blankets on the floor. Vecchio and  
his parking tickets, still in formal wear from last night. Good God!  
Her jaw dropped as all the pieces slotted neatly into a place that left  
her feeling completely and utterly dumbfounded.  
        Fraser?  
Benton Fraser, a man she herself had personally kissed, once (oh, all  
right, twice) in a fit of madness, and . . . Ray Whateverhisnamewas?  
Fraser, and a man? She sat down abruptly on the chair near the window.  
It was very nearly inconceivable to even think of Fraser having sex at  
all, let alone with another man. But the conclusion did appear to fit  
the evidence. Fraser and his partner were apparently partners in more  
ways than one. She remembered Vecchio saying 'I'm full of surprises,'  
and shook her head. Yes, he very definitely was.  
        Good  
heavens! What were they thinking? If it got out, it could ruin Fraser's  
career, which was none too secure in the first place. For that matter,  
she suspected it wouldn't do either Vecchio, the real one or the pretend  
one, any good. She shook her head in disbelief. They had to be out  
of their minds to do something like this, to risk everything for . .  
. what? What did they have?  
        For  
that matter, what did the abrasive, wild-haired Chicago detective have  
that she didn't? Why would Fraser have turned to him, when he could  
have had . . . no. Meg sighed as reality set in. He couldn't have had  
her. Oh, she'd known he was attracted to her, felt the same herself,  
but she was his superior officer, and that alone was enough to preclude  
any further intimacy between them. And she knew, deep inside, why he  
might have turned to his partner.  
        He  
was lonely. She knew that, could even bring herself to speak of it on  
occasion, usually when she'd had a drink too many. Though nearly everyone  
seemed to like him, he tended not to let people close, being a man with  
many friendly acquaintances but few close friends and no family, save  
his recently discovered half-sister. He lived like a monk in an office  
that was more of a storage closet than a room. He was almost pathologically  
bashful around women, so he didn't date. He could be maddeningly obtuse  
and aggravatingly ethical. And he was desperately needy.  
        Admittedly,  
that, as much as the chain of command issues, had made her shy away from  
him. She sensed in him a depth of deprivation that she couldn't come  
close to filling, and frankly didn't even want to try and fill. It would  
demand too much of her. Perhaps that was shallow on her part, but at  
least she was honest about it. Apparently, though, that need didn't  
frighten his partner. In fact, as she thought back to the expression  
she had seen a couple of times in Ray's eyes, perhaps he contained an  
equally deep and complementary need.  
        She  
had noticed that Fraser had seemed happier in the past week or so. He  
seemed to be getting out more, spending a lot of time, not just work  
time, with Ray. Was this that recent then? They'd always spent a lot  
of time together, but lately they'd almost been inseparable. She'd heard  
it said that in many ways, a law-enforcement partnership was like a marriage.  
You had to depend on your partner for so much that a deep level of trust  
evolved between you, as well as a certain degree of intimacy. And for  
two needy people, that might develop into physical as well as emotional  
intimacy.  
        Still,  
this was Benton Fraser she was thinking about. While the cop clearly  
was the type who'd try just about anything, Fraser was so earnestly innocent  
that she had trouble with the whole concept of his having any sort of  
sexuality at all, let alone bisexuality. And since she knew he'd responded  
when he kissed her, and she knew he'd had some sort of relationship with  
that Metcalf person, he clearly wasn't averse to women. She sighed,  
feeling a twinge of regret at the lost opportunity. He was an extraordinarily  
handsome man, and she had a feeling he would be just as efficient in  
bed as he was out of it. But it was probably best to have let that sleeping  
wolf lie.  
        A tap  
at her door brought her out of her reverie and she glanced at her watch.  
Nine-thirty. That meant it was probably Fraser. She wondered how she  
was going to be able to look at him, or at Vecchio for that matter, without  
giving away her newfound knowledge. It was going to be difficult. But  
then, she hadn't gotten to be an Inspector in the RCMP by shirking difficult  
duties. She could do it.  
        And  
she could keep their secret. No one was going to find out about this  
from her, she had no intention of letting loose lips sink Constable Fraser,  
to use a hopelessly mixed metaphor. He was a good officer, if a frequently  
irritating one, and whom he slept with, or did not sleep with, had nothing  
to do with his efficacy or professionalism. Besides, the evidence, however  
compelling, was purely circumstantial. She went to her desk, sat down,  
and composed herself.  
        "Come  
in."  
        The door  
opened and Fraser stood on the threshold, a little hesitantly. He was  
fully uniformed and impeccably groomed, making her doubt that she'd seen  
him less than half an hour earlier, sweat-suited, rumpled, and unshaven.  
Only the slight reddening and fullness of his lips betrayed anything,  
and that only because she was looking for it.  
        "Sir?"  
        "Yes, Fraser, come  
in."  
        "I'd  
like to apologize again, sir, for . . ."  
        She  
held up her hand to stop him. "Think nothing of it, Fraser. You  
got us out of quite a bind last night, and I don't begrudge you a few  
extra moments of sleep. I was just concerned that you might be ill.  
I'm pleased to know you are not. Now, my nine-forty-five appointment  
should be here shortly, and I'll need you to take dictation during the  
meeting."  
        He  
nodded. "Of course, sir."  
        "Have  
you eaten, Fraser?"  
        He  
blinked, puzzled. "No, sir. Why?"  
        "I  
thought you might not have taken time. Go get yourself something,."  
He looked at her oddly, and she realized her suggestion that he eat something  
was out of the ordinary. Hastily she covered herself. "After  
all, I can't have you passing out from hunger while you're taking dictation,  
now can I?"  
        Apparently  
that was more normal, because he relaxed and shook his head. "No,  
sir."  
        He turned  
to go, and she called after him. "Oh, and Fraser, bring me a cup  
of coffee when you come back," she added in a master-stroke of normalcy.  
        "Yes sir,"  
he returned, closing her door.  
        She  
sighed and leaned back in her chair. Fraser, and Ray -- Whateverhisnamewas.  
The world was sometimes a very strange place. Remembering those flowers  
scattered around Fraser's room, she smiled a little, shaking her head.  
She would never look at either of them quite the same way again. Or,  
floral garnishes for that matter. Flowers, and those two? Full of surprises,  
both of them, apparently. Straightening, she picked up the itinerary  
for the meeting and began to read it. Time to get to work.

 

  
_* * * Finis * * *_   


  


* * *

  
Comments to: Kellie.

_PS. I feel compelled to make a little statement here.The practice of unsafe sex in this story is due to the fact that it's FICTION. In real life, folks, USE IT OR LOSE IT! Okay? Let's be safe out there. :-)_


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